Voices in the Dark
by Catchandelier
Summary: "Once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always." OR There is a girl, floating in the darkness- and her sisters won't call her back. Vaeru Plotbunny #06.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Everything not in a parenthesis is by Vaeru, an amazingly god-like being who *Ahem* I mean a really good writer on this site. This is her plotbunny, I'm just… running with it…**

* * *

(_Where are you?_)

Waking was a long journey, a stream of feelings and sights and sounds that made no sense at all and yet were so wholly right that the burgeoning consciousness felt less as a foreign journey and more as a homecoming, pieces coming together to fall seamlessly into a perfect whole.

(_Where are you? Hello? Baby sister here… any hyper-protective older sisters there?_)

There were always voices, tides of sound that swelled and ebbed in a sort of steady rhythm. Some voices rose above the rest, mostly because of their unique sounds or the frequency with which they spoke. There was one voice with its delightful way of twisting sounds, extending the r's and blurring the lines between one word and the next, pure pleasure to hear.

(_Where are you? Hell-o? Guys?_)

There was another voice that stood above the others, velvety smooth, higher than the other yet dark and warm, soothing.

(_Guys? You there? Anyone?_)

Another, similar to the first, produced broad vowels and fobbed the harsh edges of words, bleeding them together, creating a drawl that suggested an easygoing nature for all that the voice almost always exuded pure stress.

(_Please… Where are you? Stop playing around you guys- I'm really worried about all of you…_)

And _his _voice.

He spoke most often of all, voice deep and resounding, ringing of authority. Sometimes his voice would rise, stern and demanding, and those were the times when the world would rock and tremble, pain and confusion lighting the world in streaks of red and white, voices rising in a crescendo of fear and fury that swirled and rose and drowned out thought itself.

(_Where are you? I'm scared- __**Where**__**are**__**you?**__ If this is a joke, it isn't funny!_)

But he would remain throughout, steady, strong, a grounding force at the midst of so much terror, and just when things would be at the worst, the world would suddenly steady, and the pain would fade, and the voices would resume their normal rise and fall, all becoming right once more.

(_No one's answered; is anyone there? F-fergie? Di-Tse? Gravy? Mags? Coco? Guys, this isn't funny! Please, just answer! Please…_)

And then a time came, and the puzzle was complete, all the pieces together, the picture complete. The voices had names: Montgomery Scott, Nyota Uhura, Leonard McCoy.

James Kirk.

There were others. Spock. Chekov. Sulu. Four-hundred and twenty-three lives, four-hundred and twenty-three voices... all within this moving world.

All within her.

(_They're here, but none of you are- Why aren't any of you- Why won't any of you answer me? Please, just- Just answer, okay? I'm sorry if I've- if I've made you upset, o-or if you don't have t-time for me anymore b-but… please, I just want- I want to talk to my older sisters…_)

A time came, and she was awake, and she had a name.

/U.S.S. Enterprise NCC-1701./

(And then came the other things- the… other names, the names of her- she doesn't know what, because 'sister' is too small a word for what Fergie and Di-Tse and Gravy and Mags and Coco are to her; it _hurts _to think about them but she knows that they should be there, _They __**should**__ be answering her_ _and_ _they're_ _**not**_, and- and She _knows_ that- that something **horrible** happened that she can't remember- that she doesn't **want** to remember, but when she calls to them- they _have _to be there, she can't be the only one who-

A-and the voices inside her are nice… but they aren't- They aren't…

_Farragut. Dianthus-Tsembelis. Gravitas. Mangrove. Coatis. Where are you? Why won't you talk to me? I miss you all; I just want to talk to my sisters… please… please talk to me…_)

/Captain's log. Stardate 3263.8. Nearly five weeks have passed since our encounter with the Bengkor nebula outside of the M'Jaen system, and the strange phenomena aboard the ship have yet to abate. Scotty has no explanation for the energy surges within the warp core, nor has Spock produced a logical reason for the sudden increase in the activity within the computer systems. While there is no danger at present, all of engineering is at work attempting to track down the cause.

It has been two months since the Vulcan Incident, and the crew is… adjusting. There is an occasional air of melancholy that permeates the ship; after the encounter with the nebula, the melancholy air has seemed to settle over Communications Decks Three through Seven- Nurse Chapel has been inundated with requests for anti-depressants.

On a more private note, I find myself uneasy. On a ship, even starship class, there is rarely a moment when one feels completely alone. My private quarters are one of very few places where I can find such solitude, yet now I have the strangest feeling that I am being followed, something looking over my shoulder, with me every moment of the day. My sleep has been restless of late as well- I do not know whether it is the cause or the result of the strange feeling. Should this continue, I will have to consult Dr. McCoy./

**AN: Thoughts? Comments?**


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: You can complain about Scotty or Chekov's accents if you really want to… **_**but…**_** I'm not writing them out exactly as canon portrays them. That would take too long. **

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A time came, and she was awake, and she had a name.

* * *

A time came, and she was _**awake**_, and she had a _name_.

* * *

/Oh god. I… I remember now… oh _**g-god**_…/

"Sir, I am picking up a strange series of wave-patterns on the internal sensors."

"More 'strange phenomena', Mr. Spock?"

"Indeed sir. The wave-pattern seems to be localized within the Engineering decks."

'Captain! I've found the source of the strange phenomena- It's… You need to come down here, to Engineering. The source needs to be seen to be believed.'

* * *

She hadn't realized that she was so_ **young**_**,** compared to the rest of them- she's eight Earth-years old, but in starship years, she's barely not a baby. In comparison, Farragut, who was the next youngest, is in her late twenties. They've been around her for as long as she can remember- Coatis was the first; she talked her through the first few days of being- being alive. (But not alive, because she's _real_ now, and she wasn't before- how does she quantify the difference?) She was the one who explained about the 'family', and how the Fleet worked. (She explained what she _is_ in the world- why it mattered. Well, Coco, Fergie and Gravy did- but Coco was first… Coco was always first.)

/Coco… Oh god…/

Stifled sobs wrack the body of a small, beautiful, teenaged girl curled into a protective ball in a junction inside a Jeffries tube- and it's very odd to be curled up inside herself the way she is, but her body is still her body, and she's _sad_ and she wants… she _**wants…**_ /I know what I want, but…/

* * *

/Oi. You awake yet?/

/Wha- where… where am I?/

/Right now? Ehmm… right _now_ you're at the Earth-side Spacedock, _Imperator_ to be precise-like./

/Is… is that… Good?/

/Well, yeah- you're being built as we speak; if you weren' 'ere at Spacedock, we wouldn' be talking, yeah? Anyway, you're the newest one here, so I'll have to explain some things t'ya./

/L-like… like what?/

/Firstly, I gotta 'splain who you are, and what we do. You're the youngest in the Fleet, so-/

/Fleet?/

/Do **not** interrupt me 'gain, li'l girl. I'll allow it once, 'cause ya're new. **Don't** do it again./

/S-sorry…/

/'Sawrite. Now, ya're at _Imperator_ Spacedock- This is the Alpha Quadrant, which I will not explain to ya, so don't ask. There are, not counting you or me, four other girls who live here- that is to say, four others who consider this home-base. The closest Spaceport is _Lunaria_ which is 40 degrees starboard, 15 degrees aft, and eight minutes at warp 2 from your position.

Now, ya're the new flagship for the Fleet- which is a group of ships dedicated to protecting the Federation./

/O-oh… so, I'm to be a warship?/

/!Coco! What are you telling the child? Y'not actually implying tha-/

/Well, if I **hadn't been interrupted**, I would have told her-/

/Um…/

/O~h, pardoneze moi, Mistress Coatis; do forgive me for interrupting your precious-/

/That's just like you, Farragut-/

/Don't you call me Farragut!/

/Would youze two **knock it off**? Some of us are trying to sleep here!/

/Umm… Excuse me but…/

/Stay outa this, Mags, Coco's been jabbing my warp for years, let me just-/

/**EXCUSE ME PLEASE!**/

Silence falls. The black echoes with the slow swirl of massive thoughts moving in a channel invisible to mortal senses- moving in a time too vast to fathom; normally, a starship's thoughts are both slower than the momentous slide of a glacier down the side of a mountain and faster than the moment in which two sentient beings have the time to fall in love.

(Normally, a starship's thoughts are completely incomprehensible to a mortal- they live in completely different worlds, think in different languages- they're _built_ differently, even; in the Bengkor Nebula outside of the M'Jaen system, the starship, and _things _that_ interact with _starships and the mortal crew intersect much more closely than in most other places- often with bizarre results. Think of it as a cosmic tuning fork- setting one world in alignment with another; the confluence point of two overlapping, but unconnected, worlds. The important thing to remember is that once the two sparate states of existence become aware of each other, they can never become _unaware_ of each other, in the same way you can never take back an insult once it's spoken.

On another note, sentience, like morality, can only be removed with death- and unlike biotic creatures, abiotic creatures like starships and planets are notoriously hard to kill. Someone is only dead if they are forgotten.)

/Ah! The new girl's awake Coco? Why haven't you introduced us?/

/I **would** have gotten to that if you hadn't interrupted, Farragutless-/

/Why You-!/

/Um… Who are all of you? Please, what's going on?/

/What did I just say, youze two? Stap fightin' an introduse youse selfs to the poor gel, awrite?/

That day so long ago was the first time she met Fergie- Farragut, properly. Now, there is no way to explain in the original words what a starship looks like to another starship- but Farragut, when Enterprise met her, was in her mid-twenties. She wore white; Coatis wore white; Mangrove wore white; Dianthus-Tsembelis and Gravitas wore white; Enterprise, at the time, was a collection of bones and circuitry- she was near naked, if that makes sense. Fergie had a pageboy cut- her _personality_ was the kind which would consider a pageboy practical for her lifestyle, flattering to her face, and professional enough to wear everyday; she's… cute, and flirty- and _fast; _she's a messenger. Coatis, being the eldest, had a completely different style- Two swooshy buns at each side of her head, and another bun on top, wide warm band of hypersteel between the three; she's a very old, very elegant starship, one of the last still flying- in her late forties, the oldest of the sisters- when she moved, it was with grace and stern focus; she is a diplomatic vessel. Enterprise is not a diplomatic vessel.

Enterprise wonders what she is- Mangrove is a freighter; her hair is wound tight to her skull in a bun and braid- she is broader than her, stronger than her; her body is all engines and support- her muscles can move things twenty to thirty times her size; Enterprise is not a freighter.

Dianthus-Tsembelis is a passenger transport- she's not as broadly hewn as her sister, Mags, nor is she as dignified as her sister Coco; her honey-blonde hair falls in a long braid down her back. Shielding and comfort are her calling cards- she's slightly on the chubby side, and moves with the least amount of speed and grace, which is not to say she isn't fast or maneuverable, but in comparison to her sisters, she is lacking. Enterprise is not a passenger transport.

/Um… What am- What makes us sisters?/

Gravitas- second oldest, mid-thirties, short shingle bob haircut, blond locks swirling around her blue-blue eyes, answered Enterprise's question- her voice rang with power and grave purpose. Gravitas _is_ a warship- it's never stated outright, but that's what she is, all the same; she is fleet of foot, and moves with powerful poise.

/We were all built here, at _Imperator._ You are not just the youngest of us sisters- you are the youngest of all the entire Fleet. You are the flagship of the Fleet- you are the most beautiful of us all. You are meant to be the shining example of what the Federation can be- therefore, you have the most balanced set of abilities of the Fleet. It is very likely that you will be crewed with the best and brightest of all the Federation./

/Crewed?/

/You certainly cannot fly yourself, Enny./

* * *

(She was built to be pretty- not fast or dignified or strong or comfortable or dangerous- _pretty._ She's the pretty one- she's only expected to be pretty; and _pretty_ doesn't always mean _**functional**_.

She wears white too now- and of her sisters she _is_ the most beautiful- but she's also crushingly average.)

(It is worth noting that, from the outside, for all intents and purposes a Federation starship looks pretty much the same; it is only from the inside certain differences can be seen. Basically, Enterprise is identical to her five older sisters- unless you know something about starships, and can point out the difference between an impulse thruster and an overdrive pulsator from a picture; they do the same thing, and they're in the same place- the pulsator is just an older piece of technology.)

* * *

Scotty heard the crying- a new, and disturbing, development in the strangeness plaguing the ship since the M'jaen system- from farther within the Jefferies tubes. He slowly crept forwards, and stopped at a junction; there was a blonde girl- no more than fifteen, if that- hunched over herself, crying. Sobbing, actually, like the world just ended and no one bothered to tell her until after she was dead.

She has shoulder length blonde-white waves of hair; her skin is pale peachy-pink with silvery undertones, marbled with soot; she is wearing a burn streaked white dress, flowers embroidered across the shoulders; rainbow tights under Starfleet issue boots; thick red fingerless glove-mittens, covering her face. Scotty slowly crept forwards, and gently placed his hand on her back. She stiffened then carefully dropped her hands over her mouth, turning to look over her shoulder. Scotty saw her tear-reddened eyes- 'Her eyes- they're almost Warp blue - but that's not _possible_-'

She smiles at him timorously, her Warp blue eyes still watery and distressed. "H-hello, Mr. Scott."

"How do you know my name Miss-?"

"U.S.S. _Enterprise _NCC-1701. E-enny, for short. I s-suppose that you want me to- to come out of here?"

Scotty stared at Enny. He stared long enough that she started to shift nervously; stared at her almost in awe. 'She's beautiful. I was right- her eyes _are_ Warp blue.' Enny's hands had settled on her folded legs; her shoulders began to shake. As they did, a soft thrum began in the auxiliary ducts; the automated grilles began to clatter in time with the soft shivers wracking her body. Scotty is not stupid; if this girl is who she says she is-"Hey. It's alright; I won't hurt you, Enny. You- you _do_ know that, right?"

"I know that y-you've never h-hurt me without c-cause, Mr. Scott. I don't blame you for it; the situation is al-w-ways dire when you do- and I am more easily repaired than the crew is- is replaced." She smiles again- it has to be called a smile, because there isn't really a word for the way her face twitches. "S-so… I g-guess I should follow you?"

"Yeah. I think that might be best."

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**AN: Comments? Thoughts? Moar?**


End file.
